


Things to do at the end of the world

by Emilys_List



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fountain CO, Virginia, William - Freeform, on the lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-27
Updated: 2009-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for series finale and The X-Files: I Want to Believe.</p><p>2002: They've never been clock watching, 9-to-5 kind of people, or any variation – but now, even the notion of an irregular schedule is thrown out the window. No schedule. Lack of anywhere to be, anything to do. She leaves him sleeping in bed, donning his t-shirt and her jeans to venture out for food. As she heads out of the Super 8, she looks behind her at the squat, nondescript building, and she can almost pretend that they're on assignment. She's off to do an autopsy, to head to the lab, question a witness, or anything else that felt normal.</p><p>Normal is a subjective term.</p><p>Disclaimer: Characters and rights belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things to do at the end of the world

2002

Fountain, CO

They've never been clock watching, 9-to-5 kind of people, or any variation – but now, even the notion of an irregular schedule is thrown out the window. No schedule. Lack of anywhere to be, anything to do. She leaves him sleeping in bed, donning his t-shirt and her jeans to venture out for food. As she heads out of the Super 8, she looks behind her at the squat, nondescript building, and she can almost pretend that they're on assignment. She's off to do an autopsy, to head to the lab, question a witness, or anything else that felt normal.

Normal is a subjective term.

When she comes back with coffee and greasy breakfast sandwiches, he's still sleeping and she can't believe she left the room. Looking at him is a luxury, after so many moments without the opportunity. She takes in his cheeks, darkened by stubble, and that full mouth, and the rest of him, naked under the sheets. She's not hungry but she eats all of her sandwich and blows on her beverage to cool it. She has never been – will never be – good at just sitting, but she does her best to try.

She turns on the Today show and notices that Matt Lauer has a buzzcut. The last time she watched this show was when she was recovering from her abduction, and not wanting to count the years since, she lets herself watch and her mind goes numb.

Mulder is still tired, dead to the world, but she crawls back into bed next to him and slips her body around his. Everything else can fade away; all she needs is something tactile.

As she starts to drift off, he starts to stir. "I love the smell of clogging arteries in the morning." He rolls over to face her and yawns his stale breath against her lips, and amidst all sensible reasons to the contrary, she finds this vaguely charming. "Are you really here?" He whispers. She nods the answer to his question. "Good. I've begun to have difficulties drawing the distinction between reality and the imagined."

She reaches out and strokes his hair. "I don't think 'reality' is the operative word, but here we are. Colorado. Next stop, Canadian border. Then, who knows. I've always wanted to vacation on Santorini."

He raises one eyebrow, then swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. He lays back down facing the ceiling and says quietly, "I want to go to Wyoming. I want to see William." She nods heavily, and too much, until the tears begin.

"We can't," she says wetly, "and you know that. And I don't want to talk about it."

He looks into her eyes, into her, and somewhat past – like always. "Do you have something else to be doing?"

At first a hard look fills her face. No. There isn't anything else. "We need to get out of here before you're found. Before we're found. After that, you are more than welcome to sort through all the traumatic events of our lives. We certainly have time enough for that."

He shakes his head. "I don't want to go anywhere without him."

She sits up, and any sadness or rawness that remains is converted quickly into anger, but she cannot finds the words she needs, so she gets up and paces, her bare feet skimming against the industrial carpeting. It's difficult not to lash out when you want to be fair to a man who you've been aching to see again, but the old impulse wins out. "You're being ridiculous, and what's more, you're being selfish and reckless. Do you know how difficult it was to say goodbye to him? To part with him? Even if I knew exactly where he was – which I don't – I cannot even begin to ruminate on what type of effect that would have on his life. Not to mention how potentially dangerous it could be for him. His father is a wanted man."

He sits up too. "I never got to say goodbye," he says and she exhales, holding herself tightly. She nods because she understands loss as well has he does – the crushing, overbearing weight of what loss can do. From sheer exhaustion and adrenaline and sadness, she crumbles to the floor, worn out. In a flash, he's by her side, and he holds her, and she holds on to him. If we get through this, she thinks, it will be by this alone.

2006

Virginia

With the mortgage papers signed, and numerous visits to lawyers, the house is theirs – such as it is. "I've always wanted to live in a small town," he says, wandering through the mutedly lit rooms of the first floor.

"You know, I was asked casually about our almost paying in full."

He climbs the stairs, his hand skimming the banister. "And what did you say?"

"I said my partner was a trust fund baby, and it wasn't his business." She follows him, eyes locked on his ass. It had been awhile.

"You could've said 'independently wealthy,'" he complains half-heartedly, taking her hand as they reach the landing. "I like this place. It's a little bright, though."

She tries desperately not to roll her eyes. "You have some sort of pathological avoidance of the sun."

"Left over from a past life?" He walks into a room to the right and runs his fingers over the walls. "I'll set up my study in here."

She bites her lip, but says it anyway. "I'll be starting at the hospital next week, and it's going to take up all of my time. All of my time. And I wonder, Mulder, what will you do?"

He shakes his head, leaning against the wall. "Read all of the Harry Potter books, in anticipation of the final installment. Learn how to square dance." She slides her hands into her pockets. "But I guess you're looking for my serious answer, which would be, I have no fucking clue."

She smiles at him, and strokes the collar of his shirt. "Okay."

"I'll do what I always do. Breathe in and out, live, search for the truth. What else can I do?"

It always takes reminding herself to remember she can only save him so much. "You can learn how to cook. Make the bed. Dust." He leans forward and kisses her then, and her eyes slip closed. She's been kissing him for years now, far longer than anyone else, but it is always a shock that they've gotten here, to this place.

"Welcome home," he says.

/end.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote my first XF fic in 1998. I think back to that time and though I cannot remember specific fics, I know I should be embarrassed. This, on the other hand, was fun to write and continues to delight me when I read it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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